


A dog's life

by BlackPrism



Series: Wires and Whisky [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressed Hank Anderson, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mentioned Cole Anderson, Pre-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Pre-Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Sad Hank Anderson, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 14:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16578023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackPrism/pseuds/BlackPrism
Summary: Hank just wanted to waste away, to just be done with life.But something soft and hairy wouldn't let him.Takes place before the game.





	A dog's life

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo, i felt like writing some sumo so here is the good boy

It had been weeks, even several months since Hank had managed to leave his house. He barely ate, ordering something every couple of days, just forcing it down his throat, not tasting, not caring. He was off duty until he was able to work again, the one thing that might have pulled him outside, making him walk to the precinct like out of reflex not there anymore. He was stuck, had no reason to leave his house, nothing and nobody. He hadn't even been to his own sons funeral, unable to see that small casket disappear under layers of dirt.

Hank only wanted to waste away, not do anything any longer, just get this over with. This had to be hell and he had no desire to stick around any longer.

 

People from the precinct kept showing up. Chris, Fowler, even that new rookie, Reed. Trying to drag Hank outside, to urge him to move on, get help, live again.

But Hank only shouted himself hoarse every time it knocked at his door. Neighbours showed up and left again as he threw empty bottles at the still closed door. He had no family anymore, never had a wife, parents dead, no siblings, no anybody.

 

Hank only wanted to die. But even for that, he had no energy left anymore. No matter how often his gaze wandered over to his gun, he couldn't bring himself to do more than sit in front of his couch on the cold floor, drink and just stare into space, replay the last memory he had of his son, over and over again.

That small, broken, limp body. The blood. The cold. The snow. The hospital. After that everything just faded into black. He couldn't remember the first few weeks after the accident, even now it all still seemed like one very long dream, hours passing without his notice, time dragging on and speeding past at the same time.

 

Hank just wanted to wither away. But the world wouldn't let him. Instead, it send somebody to knock at his door.

 

“Hello?” the voice of his neighbour, a name Hank didn't care to remember anymore, came muffled, but clear enough through the door.

 

“G'away…” Hank’s voice was raspy and dry, barely loud enough to be heard by somebody in the room, definitely not by somebody outside the house. He hadn't spoken in days and the cheap booze he had found in his garage had burned his throat raw.

 

“Mr Anderson, are you there? It's me, Jodie Clearwater. I live next door and...well...it would be easier to explain face to face!”

 

“I said g'away!” Hank shouted, still croaking but louder, pushing himself up on unsteady legs, pins and needles shooting up his body. Why couldn't people just leave him to suffer in peace? Was it really that much to ask for?

Hank stumbled to the door, cracking it open and peering through the gap.

 

The women on his doorstep were rather young, brown hair, grey eyes. He knew her. They had a dog…. Cole had liked to pet it… Hank swallowed hard, pushing the grief and memories under the anger. That was easier to handle. That made him actually feel something

 

“The fuck ya want?!”

 

The woman flinched back a bit, already having looked a bit surprised at Hank's appearance, used to meeting a foul-mouthed but cheerful and well-groomed man. Hank knew he must look like shit. He didn't care enough to shower, shave or just plain do anything in the last… How long had it even been? He didn't know. Hell, he didn't even know what day it was.

 

“Uh...well...I…” Jodie bit her lip, her hands fumbling with a red, worn leash. Hank hadn't even noticed the dog. “Well...you see, I and my husband are moving soon and...well, dogs aren't allowed in that apartment. So I.. Uhh…”

 

Hank looked at her with dull eyes, not reacting the slightest.

 

“Well, I thought you'll like to take him in. He is a really sweet dog and… I've heard it's always good to have some company. Especially after...well, you know..”

 

Hank kept staring at her.

 

“Yeah. I 'now.”

 

Jodie scratched her cheek, not meeting Hank's gaze...

 

“Well..but...like… Sumo here's good company. And..well..”

 

Hank sighed. He didn't want any company. He didn't care. He had no energy for this. He just wanted it to stop. He just wanted everything to stop.

 

“No.”

 

Hank closed the door without another word, practically collapsing back onto the floor. He was done with it all.

 

\------

 

Hank woke with a start, the lingering taste and burn of alcohol still in his mouth. It wasn't anything new anymore, he had gotten used to not even get a break while he was asleep, the memory of that one, terrible, fucking day burning through his head every single moment.

Staying on the floor, unmoving, Hank closed his eyes again, unable to will himself to do anything else until a sudden sound from outside startled him out of his daze. Usually, he was woken by his dreams, but not this time.

This time it was a pitiful howl, breaking through the light tapping of the rain outside.

 

Hank ignored it.

Another long whine pierced his eardrums.

He didn't care.

The rain started coming down harder.

He didn't care.

The whining got louder.

He didn't _care_.

 

But Hank had always cared, always cared too much, no matter what life threw at him, even now. He had become a police lieutenant because he cared, he had adopted a small, abandoned boy because he cared, he had helped people he didn't know because he cared. And so he found himself outside, in the pouring rain, only wearing his stained t-shirt and boxer shorts, the streetlamps the only source of light.

Shuffling down the street, barefooted, Hank followed the source of the howls. It was a dog. Jodie's dog. Tethered to the front porch of the house, too big to completely hide from the rain, wagging his tail and whining even louder as he spotted Hank.

 

Hank was too done with the world to care. But still, he found his legs carrying him towards the porch, kneeling down in front of the wet dog.

 

“The fuck ya howlin’ for?” Hank rumbled with a monotone voice.

The dog only pulled at his leash, trying to get as close to Hank as possible, licking a wet tongue across the older man's face.

Hank grimaced, pushing the dog away from him.

 

“Wonderful…”

 

Why was this dog out here like this? Hank got up, his back and knees popping at the motion and shuffled towards the door of the house. He knocked.

 

“Ey, ya forgot yer dog.” Hank was ready to leave the moment the door opened, ready to go back to his empty, dark house and hope he will suddenly stop existing.

But the door didn't open. The lights inside stayed out.

Hank's tired, dead gaze wandered from door to window, over the walls and the porch. That's when he noticed the cardboard box next to the door, hidden from the rain, a note attached to it at the top. Hank sighed. He should have stayed at home. He had no energy left for this. But still, he found himself kneeling down again, squinting to read the note in the dim light.

 

_Whoever finds this,_

_We are moving, already have. We can't keep him, dogs aren't allowed and we can no longer stay here. If you want to keep him, the rest of his food and toys is in the box._

_Take care of him_

_Jodie and Finn_

 

Well shit. They had really just dumped their dog here, just like that. Something stirred inside of Hank's numb chest. He didn't want, he couldn't take care of a dog now. But he couldn't just leave him here either. Hank wasn't a man to walk away from a living being in distress, no matter how broken he was.

 

Hank fumbled with the leash, held it in his one hand, took the box under his other arm and walked back through the rain, kicking open his door, not having bothered to close it fully and have to take his keys with him.

The dog practically barreled inside, shaking the water out of his fur right in the middle of the living room.

 

“Ah, Jesus Christ…” Hank sighed. This dog was already a handful.

 

\------

 

Hank had left the dog to his own devices, sat back down on the floor. He had hoped he could just go back to feeling miserable, just letting time pass, just doing nothing. But Hank's eyes kept wandering over to the big Saint Bernard. He watched as the dog sniffed through the room, curiously exploring every nook and cranny. Hank almost felt something like a slight smirk as the dog got startled by his own reflection in the TV, just to give an annoyed huff as he understood what he saw in front of himself.

 

The dog took his time exploring the house, Hank watching him from down on the floor, catching himself in wanting to follow the dog into the hallway as it's large form disappeared behind the corner. But Hank stayed on the floor. He heard the pitter patter of paws, the clack, clack, clack of claws, the sniffing of a wet nose. Then he heard a sudden scratching, the dog pawing at something wooden. Hank sighed. Something inside him did want to see what that dog was up too…

 

Hank pushed himself up with what little drive he still had, dragging his feet over the floor towards the hallway. His vision immediately went red, clouded black at the edges.

 

“Get ‘way from there!!”

 

The dog immediately stopped pawing at the door, the door to Cole's room, the one Hank hadn't managed to look at since his boy left, the one he didn't think he would be able to ever open again.

Hank felt his body start to tremble, his legs shake and give out. Sliding down the hallway wall, Hank let out a dry sob, crying for the first time since the accident.

 

He barely felt something wet touch his bare arm, something soft and warm settle itself onto his lap. Hank sobbed, loud, ugly and unrestrained, holding onto that soft warmth for support. The dog didn't mind, didn't move, only licked Hank's ears and hand, whining gently.

It took long for Hank to calm down, his beard soaked, his eyes swollen and sore. Only then he fully noticed the dog, half sprawled over Hank's lap, sad eyes looking up at him.

Hank grunted at the weight.

 

“Shit, ya heavy. Like a fuckin’ Sumo ringer…” he said with a shaky voice, absentmindedly running his hands through the thick fur.

The dog suddenly perked up at that.

 

“Hu? What?”

 

The dog only stared, like waiting for something.

 

“What, ya like it when I call ya Sumo Ringer?”

 

The dog gave a soft bark.

 

“How 'bout Sumo?”

 

The dog gave another bark, licking Hank's face again.

Hank snorted weakly. He felt better than he had in months. He still wanted to waste away, still couldn't stand this world. But now he had something to hold onto. Something small, something that didn't solve any of his problems, something that didn't make him less fucked up. But _something_.

 

It was good to have something alive in his house, something to talk to.

Maybe it really was good thing to have some company, after all.


End file.
